Time Flies, And What Is Past Is

Nature Does Not Suffer Her Veil To Be Taken From Her, And What She Does Not Choose To Reveal To The Spirit, Thou Wilt Not Wrest From Her By Levers And Screws.

The Summit Charms Us, The Steps To It Do Not; With The Heights Before Our Eyes, We Like To Linger In The Plain. It Is Only A Part Of Art That Can Be Taught; But The Artist Needs The Whole. He Who Is Only Half Instructed Speaks Much And Is Always Wrong; Who Knows It Wholly Is Content With Acting And Speaks Seldom Or Late.

We Often Feel That We Lack Something, And Seem To See That Very Quality In Someone Else, Promptly Attributing All Our Own Qualities To Him Too, And A Kind Of Ideal Contentment As Well. And So The Happy Mortal Is A Model Of Complete Perfection--which We Have Ourselves Created.

A Distracted Existence Leads Us To No Goal

Who Longs In Solitude To Live, Ah! Soon His Wish Will Gain: Men Hope And Love, Men Get And Give, And Leave Him To His Pain.